


This is gospel

by cherryvanilla



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s14e03 The Scar, Facial Shaving, Feelings, First Kiss, M/M, Making Out, Sam Winchester's Season 14 Angst Beard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 19:05:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16414148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: Sam has long since accepted being hopelessly and irrevocably in love with his big brother. But in times like these -- when he’s been without Dean for long periods of time and nearly sick with worry -- it all builds to an incendiary level in which it takes everything Sam has not to grab Dean and kiss him until they're both gasping for breath.





	This is gospel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eternalsojourn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsojourn/gifts).



> I haven't seen the full episode yet, but this is based on Dean's reaction to Sam's beard, gifs, and the fact that Sam is apparently clean-shaven next week despite others liking the beard on him. This was supposed to be shaving porn, but instead it turned into shaving _feelings_ porn. 
> 
> (I haven't looked to see if other shaving fic has been posted, but I truly hope this becomes a ~thing.)
> 
> For my darling Rena <3

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” Sam’s seated in the bunker’s bathroom, Dean standing between his legs. That last part is a fact Sam’s trying particularly hard not to think about. 

“Yeah, well, you won’t let me at you with some clippers, so this is the next best thing.” 

Sam scoffs but a small smile still tugs at his lips. When Dean suggested this, Sam's agreement had mainly been to give Dean a distraction, a task. A "thank you", essentially, for the way Dean opened up to him. Sam was still feeling off-kilter, an ache deep in soul for what his brother went through. But if he's being honest with himself, he doesn't mind doing this; his facial hair wasn't just a result of being "busy." He wasn't fooling anyone, least of all Dean, with that story. And when it all came down to it, Dean's opinion is the only one that's ever truly mattered. And having Dean back, _here_ , it’s -- all he ever wanted. So here they were, in the bathroom with a razor and a can of shaving cream.

Sam bites back the words that want to spill from his lips, all the things he wants to say to reassure Dean that he's here, that he isn't going through this alone. But Dean's said enough for one night and pushing things further would only end in Dean stalking into his bedroom. “Just make sure your hands are steady, man,” he replies instead. 

Now it’s Dean’s turn to scoff. “This ain’t exactly rocket science, Sam.” 

The first touch of Dean’s hands, lathering his face up with shaving cream, is a lot. Suppressing a shudder, Sam holds still, shoulders tensing. Dean pauses after he’s finished covering all of Sam’s beard, cocking an eyebrow. “You seriously worried I’m gonna slit your throat?” 

Sam flinches, thinking of how Michael probably would’ve done just that if given the opportunity, all while wearing Dean’s face. The whole thing still makes no sense and Sam wants to find out why Michael left almost as much as he wants to lose himself in Dean just being Dean again. 

Sam’s opening his mouth to say something, anything, when Dean’s other eyebrow raises. “Sammy… it's just me.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Sam nods, jerkily, cutting his eyes to the floor. “Sorry.” Sam hates himself, hates that Dean is reassuring _him_ when it should be the other way around. He can't explain it to Dean now, though, the desperation he feels, the desire to just -- remove all of Dean's pain.

Dean’s hand moves to his shoulder, squeezing once. “We doin’ this?” His voice is soft and Sam closes his eyes, lets it wash over him. 

“Yeah,” Sam chokes out, uneasiness setting in for an entirely different reason now. 

Dean lifts the razor, keeping one hand firm on the side of Sam’s neck, tilting his head upward. Sam opens his eyes but lets his gaze fall to the side, which unfortunately ends up being in the direct line of the mirror. He watches, mesmerized, as Dean’s profile drags the razor upward in a slow, steady line. His eyes are intent on his task, brow furrowed. 

Dean is gorgeous. That’s not a novel revelation, nor is the tightening in Sam’s groin or the way his entire body feels aflame at the simple touch of his brother’s fingers. He’s lived with this for as long as he can remember. It’s not suffocating or cloying; Sam doesn’t drown in these feelings on a daily basis. They’re simply part of his genetic make-up, like being tall or having a super fast metabolism. 

Sam has long since accepted being hopelessly and irrevocably in love with his big brother. But in times like these -- when he’s been without Dean for long periods of time and nearly sick with worry -- it all builds to an incendiary level in which it takes everything Sam has not to grab Dean and kiss him until they're both gasping for breath. 

Dean’s stepped closer now, Sam observes in the mirror, right into the V of Sam’s thighs and so close that he can feel the heat from Dean’s body. 

_Alive. Here. Not Michael. Not drowning._

Sam lets out a shaky breath, the scrape of the razor against his cheek deafening in the otherwise silence of the room. 

Dean pauses in his task and Sam freezes himself, wondering if maybe that breath was louder than he thought. 

“What’s the deal with this thing for real, Sammy?” Dean’s voice is rough and it seeps into Sam’s bones, making it’s home there. His nail presses into Sam’s beard and Sam stifles a gasp. “Cuz, man, I haven’t seen you with more than two days worth of stubble since you started growing whiskers.”

“Been busy,” Sam grits out. “I told you.” He's got no idea why he's trying to keep up the ruse any longer. Probably because Dean doesn't need to be worrying about him 24/7, especially not _now_.

“Uh-huh.” Dean drops the arm with the razor and tightens the grip he has on Sam’s neck, forcing Sam’s eyes toward him. “Right. Because our lives have been otherwise so easy for the last decade.” Dean frowns before continuing. “Mom says you’ve barely slept since I’ve been gone.” 

Sam bites the inside of his cheek, shrugging one shoulder and breaking the intense eye contact. 

“Damn it, Sam!” Dean shouts. Then both of his hands are back on Sam’s half-shaven face, smearing the cream on his cheeks, and forcing Sam to look at him again. “You can’t -- I need you to take care of yourself, alright? I can’t--” Dean pauses, blowing out a shaky breath and looking down at the small space between them before boring his gaze into Sam again. “If something happens to you, Sammy, there’s just no point, alright?” Dean removes one hand, waves it in the air between them. “To any of this. To what I did. None at all. You get me?” 

Sam swallows, watching Dean inhale and exhale unevenly, his eyes wild. He knows his brother like a book at this point, knows Dean would do anything to keep him safe, alive. He knows Dean would (and _is_ ) crucifying himself for the decisions he's made, yet he'd never outright regret them if it means that Sam is still living in this world. He knows his brother loves him without borders or limits.

Now it's Sam who feels like he's drowning. Maybe it’s the fear in Dean’s eyes or the fact that his fingers are still covered in foam from the shaving cream. Maybe it’s the fact that Sam once again had to deal with what life would be like without Dean in it and how he never fucking wants that to happen again. Or maybe it’s all three of these things that make him whisper, “Yeah, Dean. I get you,” before pulling his brother down for a messy, uncoordinated kiss. The razor that was still dangling between the fingers of Dean’s right hand clatters to the floor. Dean’s hands finding the sides of Sam’s neck while Sam steadies his hold on Dean’s cheeks and licks his way into his surprised mouth. 

Dean lets out a groan against Sam’s lips and pulls away slightly. “Sam, we can't do--”

“Shut up,” Sam whispers. “Just shut up, Dean.”

He feels Dean’s smirk in the minuscule space between them. “That an order there, Chief?” 

“Yeah,” Sam replies roughly, before surging forward again. Dean relaxes into it, his hands moving to Sam’s shoulders before stroking up and down his arms.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean moans against his lips before fucking his tongue into Sam’s mouth and kissing him like he’s the one thing that can keep him afloat. Sam groans into it, kissing back even harder. If this is a dream, Sam never wants to wake up.

They spend an indeterminable amount of time just making out, Dean finally straddling Sam’s lap when the position gets too uncomfortable. The bathroom fills with choked off moans and whimpers, blending together to the point that Sam doesn’t know where his own sounds end and Dean’s begin. 

By the time they pull back, they’re panting harshly and Dean’s wearing half of Sam’s shaving cream. Sam’s lips twitch as he drags his finger through it, smearing it down the column of Dean’s throat. 

When Dean smiles back it reaches his eyes, and the knot in Sam’s stomach unfurls. “You gonna let me finish the job there, Chief, before we cross this line we’ve been straddling our whole damn lives?” 

Sam exhales sharply. There’s something about Dean putting it into words, Dean having been _right there with him_ in this, just like he is in nearly everything. Sam wonders how his brother can be so easy to read and yet he never saw this. 

“Yeah,” Sam chokes out. There are a million questions he wants to ask yet he’s afraid that doing so could snap this newfound development in two. 

Dean reaches down to retrieve the razor, wiping it off on a towel before continuing. Everything’s heightened now, what with Dean’s dick pressed against Sam’s groin, Dean’s breath hot on his face as he slowly guides the razor, pressing kisses into every inch of clean, exposed skin. 

“Stop thinking so hard, Sammy,” he whispers at one point, teeth pulling on Sam’s earlobe. 

Sam squeezes his eyes shut and can’t stop himself from asking two words: “Why now?” 

Dean goes still and Sam bites his tongue, wondering if he’s broken the spell. 

After what feels like an eternity, Dean speaks. “Because you made the first move,” he says simply, like it’s so fucking obvious. And maybe it is. Dean’s been watching after Sam his whole life. He’s been everything Sam has and, despite their mom being back, he still is. This isn’t something Dean ever expected he could or should have, despite apparently wanting it. Hell, he still tried to deny himself after Sam planted one on him. 

Sam shakes his head, laughing ruefully. He slides one arm around Dean’s waist, the tip of one finger teasing beneath his shirt and finding bare skin. “We about done here? ‘Cuz I think we’ve got some lost time to make up for.” 

Dean smirks and grabs the towel, wiping Sam’s face clean before inspecting his handiwork. “Yep. There’s that ugly mug I know and love.” 

Sam flushes and leans forward, burying his face in Dean’s neck, his newly shaven skin cool against Dean’s warmth. Sam feels foreign, almost, after having the beard for so long, but _Dean_ feels anything but. He fully expects Dean to pull away, or make an obvious ‘chick flick moment’ comment. But instead, he just reels Sam in closer and together they breathe. 

_______________________

The End


End file.
